Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Chapter 2,077: In which our hero's ribs are sore

Chapter 2,077: In which our hero's ribs are sore

Or, in which the unpleasantness continues.

No more puking. Not that I can foresee. I say again, without hyperbole, that I threw up more in the 13 hour period from 11 PM Christmas night to 12 noon yesterday, than I have in any similar period in all my life.

Sad part? After the first initial incidence, where the remains of my dinner came up, I'm didn't bring up anything more substantial than water and bile. And honestly? There wasn't that much water. Couldn't keep more than a couple of mouthfuls on my stomach at a time. I went through half a bottle of Listerine trying to get that nasty taste out of my mouth.

Of course, my count doesn't count the amount of time I spent crouching in front of the toilet, dry-heaving.

Gross, I know.

But I tell you that to tell you this: I think my status for the next couple of days should be considered Questionable. Ribs are sore. From all the expectoration, but also from the attempted expectoration.

Big Stupid Tommy, Q, Sore Ribs.

It being the final week of the regular season, I might just play a quarter or two, and rest up for the playoffs.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Christmas Eve

Had to work today. Busy, busy. Luckily, there weren't but a couple of customers who seemed intent on ruining an otherwise fine day. There were a couple, including one who referred to me to her friends as "the Big Asshole," when I wouldn't cash her workman's comp check.

Luckily for me, I am on good speaking terms with a certain egg-hiding rabbit. Retribution will come this spring, when the Easter Bunny brings a whole Easter basket full of asswhup to her house.

-----

One of my favorite bits in Christmas vacation comes when Clark's mother is telling Rusty about the painful burr on her heel, and how if he rubs it, she'll give him a whole quarter.

Johnny Galecki's Rusty replies to that requestion with look of polite wonderment that transforms into quiet desperation, in the space of a half a second. That look is comic gold.

------

I'll probably write tomorrow morning. I usually do on Christmas morning, generally being unable to sleep too late.

But if I don't, I just want to pass along wishes for the very best possible holiday season for each and everyone of you who passes by.

Christmas Eve Re-Run

This popped up last Christmas. I think the advice there still rings true.

I'm going to bed soon. I think I'm going to drink some of the spiked egg nog, and chase it with a Benadryl or two. I don't want that fat man to catch me anywhere near awake.

See, I caught Santa one year. I used my mental powers, and my ninja training. I set a trap for him. You know the saying...build a better Santa trap and the world will beat your ass to the door. Or something like that. The trap? It was fly (I learned that word on TV). It was diesel-powered, and it ran on 1.21 gigawatts of electrosol, or something. I can't explain it well, because I'm inept in my ability to explain things technical. Suffice it to say this: think of a cross between one of those glue-based mouse traps, a helicopter, and Eskimo Ingenuity, and you're almost there.

Santa fell into my trap. At 12:14 on Christmas morning, in 1994. Santa has a weakness for Swiss Cake Rolls. I caught him. He was screaming in some language I didn't know. Considering the jaunty sneer and the swaggering swivel of his hips, I assumed that it was Elvish

I could only wonder at my achievement. How many millions of people had tried and failed to catch St. Nicholas? I stared at the man in red, and could barely begin to think of the acclaim, the public adoration.

Sadly, I could barely begin to think of the money. The Knoxville Zoo told me they'd pay me $20 if I could deliver the jolly old elf. I know that, because I called and asked how much a jolly old elf would bring me...they answered with a snort (which, at the time I took for excitement, but realize now was something more mocking) "twenty dollars."

But I was counting my chickens before they hatched (which, coincidentally, was plan B, to put Santa under a heat lamp and see what emerges). I managed to hold St. Nick for all of 28 minutes. He's a wily old elf. He knows how to think his way around a corner (or outside the box, as it were). In the future, I'll know that Santa's got a helluva bunch of good stuff in his Batman-style utility belt. I think it was the acid that freed him, though I'll never be sure. I was momentarily knocked silly by one one of his deadly accurate "Santarangs."

I gained my senses enough to try once again to subdue St. Nick. I've watched my share of pro wrestling in my life (and probably your share, too). But don't let anybody fool you. Thousands of hours spent studying the career of Bret "the Hitman" Hart is no match for Santa's rolling snowball Kung Fu. And let me say, Santa Claus knows his way around a choke hold.

When he was done beating me senseless, he tied me to the hearth with the stockings, which hadn't been hung by the chimney with enough care for Santa. I was left for Commissioner Gordon and the rest of the Gotham City police to find in the morning.

Most damning? Santa has connections. He told me, as he laid a finger inside his nose (Clement Moore had that one wrong), but before up the chimney he arose: "Young Thomas: because of you transgression against me, you will never be able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven!"

That, in a word, sucks.

I've done my best in the decade since to atone. I've twice made a pilgrimage to the North Pole to offer thanks for my life, and to do whatever Santa wants me to do, so as to make up. (FYI: The North Pole thing is bunk, a story made up to throw off Santa's enemies....Santa's workshop is actually in Iceland, inside a volcano, where he and his elves and reindeer are protected by Magma Monsters and Lava Loons.)

I feel like I'm making progress. I am cautiously optimistic that, over time, he'll forgive me. I hope, anyway. The problem is that an immortal elf like Santa shouldn't have any problems holding a grudge for a long, long time.

But mostly, he tells me in no uncertain terms to go away, and to leave him be.

So, I'm doing all I can to make him happy, in that respect. Which means I'll have been asleep for several hours by the time Santa makes his pass by my house.....

And let me pass a word of warning on to you, as well: You'd do well to do the same. Don't do anything to draw his wrath. As if eternal damnation of the soul to Alabama (it's where Hell is, just south of Tuscaloosa) isn't enough, he's got heat vision and no problem with using it to burn off and instantly cauterize fingers. Also, I've got a permanent crick in my neck and an intense aversion to pointy hats that I'll carry with me forever, for my troubles.

Friday, December 23, 2005

Play Time

The Festivus Grievances

The Festivus Grievances

A few things that have been bugging me....

Those people at Yahoo. Still can't get into my old e-mail account to get my address book out. I'm on e-mail, and that's the important thing. I've managed to get back all but a handful of e-mail addresses. But it's annoying, nonetheless.

I also lost out on my pick'em NFL league. I was running strong these last few weeks. And then I'm blown out of the water because I can't access my pick set. My Dad's in the league. He's been leading for weeks. He lets me know how he's doing every day. Whenever he gets a chance. I am pissed at Yahoo for subjecting me to this torture, and I am pissed at Dad. He is a bad winner.

Cell phones bug me. But as cell phone person going on a year, now, I've had to amend this to people who use them while driving, and in doing so, lose about 1/3 of their speed. A conversation starts, and suddenly you're going 20 miles an hour slower.

Also, you assholes who have your phone on speaker phone in public. It's bad enough to have to hear your end of the conversation. Making us subject to the other end of the conversation does not move your conversation from the rude column to the polite column.

And...turn the sunsabitches off in the movie theater. Honestly. We've been doing this for a decade now. Stop being that asshole.

(As I wrote this, Chattanooga news channel 12's resident crank Luther Massingale apparently forgot to turn his cell phone off before going on air....that was hilarious....)

Folks, the left lane is for passing or for turning. It's for the faster traffic. If you're in the left lane, and that car behind you is riding on your bumper, then chances are, he's wanting to go faster than you. This is not your venue to enforce what you percieve the maximum speed to be. Get into the right lane. In 2006, those drivers who do not get over in a timely fashion will be destroyed with my own bazooka.

Fox TV, and the American Viewing Public. For this whole Arrested Development nonsense. You've got one of the most critically acclaimed TV shows to come along on network TV in some time, and you can't figure out how to market it. It's like they think the only people watching TV are Jeff Foxworthy clones and little old ladies. And Damn the American viewing public, for sitting down and watching overblown Karaoke contests like American Idol four nights a week.

Bud Selig. For being a spineless twerp. For treating us all like the aforementioned Jeff Foxworthy redneck nation, thinking all we want to see is the dong home run, and not addressing the steroid problem in a serious fashion until Congress decided to get involved.

The Dusty Baker and Jim Hendry show is fast becoming one of my least favorite shows in town. I can't recall being this indifferent to what my Cubbies are doing in an offseason. Everything I hear, I am at most ambivalent, when I'm not outright disagreeing with what happens.

Johnny Damon. I'm not a Sox fan, per se. But somehow, going to the Yankees? That hurt my feelings. Don't know why. Just call it my luddite attitude of wanting some things in this world to not be for sale to the highest bidder.

ESPN. Constant gripe. Guys, I want to watch the sports. Not the people reporting on it. You aren't working with Lebron James. You're reporting on Lebron James. There's a difference.

You people and your War on Christmas nonsense. Honestly. I could give a shit. Your "wid us or agin us" attitude has gone a ways toward ruining this holiday season. You tell me to say "Merry Christmas," and I won't. Because I know it pisses you off.

Bret Hart. Dude, you're my favorite wrestler. But you've been believing your own press for years too long. Let somebody else pick the best matches of your career on another DVD collection...I know you and Shawn Michaels had issues, but your matches with him defined your career, in both the best and worst possible ways....leaving them out of a retrospective is like making a hamburger without hamburger meat.

When my dog farts, it smells like a tire fire. I tell him this, but he seems proud of the fact. And his flatulence entertains him, so who am I to take that away from him?

Checkbooks. If you want to pay your bills that way, fine. Move into the 1990's and get a debit card, please. I'm a little tired of standing behind you people while you pay for a bag of Doritos and Downy Dryer Sheets with a personal check in the amount of $3.83.

Folks, please learn to use the self-check lanes at a store. It's not hard.

Retailers, please make sure your self-check lanes work.

Haven't we had enough of this bullcrap with the banging sound systems in cars? Honestly. I really figured we'd have been through with this by now. I think it's a sign that we've got our priorities way out of whack, to see that there are this many people driving around with $5,000 sound systems in a car otherwise worth about $1300.

Please stop trying to pluralize words by putting "'s" at the end. It's not "2 Cheeseburger's." Just Cheeseburgers. That homemade bazooka's going to come in handy.

A Musing

A Musing

Do you ever suddenly get reminded of something you haven't thought about in years? And marvel at the fact that some little memory nugget has been tucked away in your brain, nestled in amongst the useless baseball statistics, obscure historical tidbits and the neverending lists of minutiae that inhabit the wrinkles of your brain, has somehow managed to furrow its way back to the forefront of your thoughts?

Damnly hell! I seem to love the sound of my own voice.

Anyway, I was at work, and I saw a guy named Zack. Now, I've known Zack for more than 20 years. Which may not seem like much to some of my readers, but is way more than half of my 28 years.

I saw Zack today, and we started talking about being ready for Christmas. And I said something to Zack about how there just aren't enough hours in the day....

And I thought of it. That little memory snippet that I haven't thought of in years. Several years.

Zack's mother, Lela, used to (and still does) volunteer with the youth group at the church I grew up with. She'd do a little bit of everything. Lead children's choir. Take the Youth on trips. She usually ended up driving anytime the Youth went Christmas carolling.

This on top of teaching for a living, and raising three kids each of whom had various and different interests...you always could say of Zack and his brother and sister--they were party to just about everything that could have ever gone on in my small town. One or more of them usually had their thumb in something, be it soccer or baseball or 4-H or church groups or community choir or any number of the little things kids do to be involved.

And that's not to characterize them as busy-bodies at all. They weren't doing these things because they had to do any of them (except maybe the church stuff). Zack's parents were big believers that if a kid wanted to participate in something, you let him participate.

Anyway, Zack's mom was leading us on some Youth group outing. That same day, she'd worked, Christmas shopped, taken one of the kids to basketball practice and done all the other little chores that you have to do to get by in this workaday world of ours.

This, specifically, is the memory that got dredged up when I saw Zack:

We were scheduled to leave the church to sing Christmas Carols at seven, and Lela hadn't shown up. We waited five or ten minutes, and the minister had decided to get us in the van and take us himself, because a lot of those we were singing to that night were the church's elderly and shut-ins, who often went to bed very early in the evening.

As we were getting ready to leave, Lela pulls into the parking lot.

I remember her getting out, coming to the window of the church van and saying "Sorry. There just aren't enough hours in the day this time of year."

Not enough hours in the day?!?!??!!!?!

Now, I don't know how old I am in this memory. Probably 11, but maybe as young as 10 or as old as 12. Either way, I was young enough at the time that for the younger me, Christmas just couldn't get here fast enough. So, her statement was in diametric opposition to everything I held near and dear to my heart. I think at that point, I'd probably had the countdown down to the minute, just how far away we were from 7 AM Christmas morning...that being the earliest we could get up to see what Santa had brought....

----

That was the memory that popped up. Just a little snippet of conversation, a little turn of events.

I haven't thought about that little thing in a while. It's funny the little things I have in that memory. I was sitting in the seat directly behind the driver's seat in the church van, sitting on the bench with Chris and Larissa. I remember that I was wearing a maroon wool coat (which I hated at the time, but I remember that it was probably the warmest yet least cumbersome I've ever worn). That night, we stopped at Zack's grandmother's house while carolling, and she fed us gingerbread cookies.

-----

Anyway. I saw Zack the other night, and we were talking, saying a lot the same thing that his mother'd said that night, sixteen or seventeen years ago.

I don't know where that point is, where you cross the line from where Christmas can't get here fast enough, to the point where Christmas will be here way too quickly....

But I think that's part of the place where you gotta admit to yourself "Shit! I'm a little bit of a grownup now..."

A little too much, maybe.

I dunno. This Christmas has shot up on me. The whole season started well enough...I got the bulk of my shopping done early, and I was intent on just relaxing when I wasn't working.

But I ended up running. Always going. Which goes against my nature, and leaves me out of sorts, to be honest.

My point, in all this mawdlin' crap I've been writing this morning, is that Christmas is a couple of days away.

I'm going to do my damnedest to sit back and enjoy the next couple of days.

I advise you guys to do the same.

I may blog a little, since I'm off the rest of today, and part of tomorrow.

But I may not. May just sit back and watch a Christmas movie or two. Haven't sat to watch March of the Wooden Soldiers, yet. Haven't really devoted a good bit of time to Christmas Vacation or Elf, yet. May do that today.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Re Run: Mark Waid, Kurt Busiek and George Perez

I got to digging through my archives this morning, and found this one, posted in December of 2003. You know, back when the Titans fielded a competitive football team Every week....

This one time, a group of us went to Heroes Con, a good-sized comic convention, held in Charlotte, North Carolina.

And it was good, and we had fun (except for where the hotel thought it would be cool to screw with me....by like overcharging us, and then refunding, and then not letting us have local calls, and then making us pay like $1.35 more, which we paid in pennies--and then there was the bartender who ignored our party in favor of the women's soccer team that wandered into the hotel bar about the same time we did).

(That was a long parenthetical statement)

(And, in fairness to the bartender, I was paying my fair share of attention to the women's soccer team, as well....the drink of choice among women's soccer players? Rum and Diet Coke....except for the one girl who came in and ordered six shots of Wild Turkey, downed them all in one breath, and said to her teammates "I'll see you losers later!")

But anyway, one morning, everybody else had walked to the convention center, and I had to go potty, so I walked down well after everybody else had left the hotel rooms (though I probably walked the most comfortably).

As I was walking into the Charlotte Convention Center, I passed a little nook that many of these big urban convention centers have nowadays, that had chairs and tables and whatnot. And in this little nook, comic writers Mark Waid and Kurt Busiek, along with comic artist George Perez were all sitting, talking about stuff.

And I stopped, and I stared. I must have made myself conspicuous, what with my waving and drooling and saying "Hey!" Because Mark Waid saw me out of the corner of my eye. And he stood up, and he said:

"Get the Hell Out of Here, Fan Boy! We're talking about important stuff! Like Work!"

"And Girls!" added Kurt Busiek.

"And Pudding!" said George Perez.

Kurt Busiek then slapped Perez. And Mark Waid stared balefully at Perez, muttered something about "friggin' Crossgen people," flipped me the bird, told me to get out of there, and went back to talking about Work/Comics/Girls/Pudding.

Well, I couldn't have that. So I attacked.

This is why I can't turn my head to the left, and why I have a gimpy knee. Because I got dragged out of the Charlotte Convention Center by two of my favorite comic writers and a near-legendary artist, got my ass whipped "Puerto Rico" style and left for dead in a dumpster.

The worst part was getting found in a North Carolina landfill by Buddy Ebsen. (This was back when Buddy Ebsen was alive).

Editor's Note: Several parts of the post were true. Other parts were not. In celebrating the Titans' victory over Warren Sapp and His Ilk, Big Stupid Tommy ran out of alcohol, ate the rest of the pickles in his gallon-sized pickle jar, drank the brine and then pulled the bag out of the garbage can and licked the bottom of the can....we don't know what exactly's wrong with him, though the licking garbage can thing is probably part of it. He's a little bananas this afternoon.

2. I'll recognize Festivus before I will Kwanzaa15. My DM thinks families are hobbies, for when you aren't working.

Now, the proceedings will be held this year, in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, on December 24, right before midnight. Betting will be cut off right before then, unless the Christ should pick this time to return, at which time all bets are off.

Judges this time around: Robert Earl Keen, the Chipmunks, all the people from Band Aid and those guys who sang "Feliz Navidad."

All Sickly and Shit

I've managed to catch some manner of creeping crud over the last couple of days. Stuffy nose. Phlegmy chest. Low grade fever.

Friday, it was a cough. No phlegm.

Saturday, it was a cough with much phlegm, as well as all those other symptoms.

Feel mostly better this morning. Still tired and run down, but better, on the whole.

You know what I hate about being sick? Besides the fact that I have to stop and blow my nose every 7 minutes?

I have loads of messed up, ultra-realistic dreams. See, the problem is that I remember a lot of my dreams...it's something I could do without whilst I'm sick.

For me, there are some dreams that I realize are dreams, even in the dream--I have these more often than not. There are others that I'm able to distinguish from our reality pretty much as soon as I wake up--usually I'll have these when I'm really, really tired.

And then there are the dreams I have when I'm sick or stressed. It's like whatever bug I've picked up decides to infect my lungs, my sinuses and my subconscious mind. These dreams are frightening, generally. And more often than not, I'll have to spend a second or two, or even a minute or two, after waking up sorting out what's a dream and what isn't.

Had a dream last night about people coming down with cancer, but in the dream, cancer meant breaking out in this oozing sores that would swell and burst, erupting in a river of bugs.

Had another night before last about walking through my New Jersey grandparents' house, after it's been bombed out in some war that my mind called the East-West War. In the house, I find my grandparents' corpses, which is troublesome because in the dream, I am aware of the fact that they were both dead before the war even started, and somebody had to dig them out of their graves to put them in the house.

Yeah, they don't make sense, but my mind doesn't quite catch up until after I've woken up.

Anyway.

Didn't miss any work. We'll know in the next couple of days whether I've succeeded in making half the people I work with sick....

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Random

Random

Just a few random bits...

Steven and a couple of other sites had news of Showtime entering the initial phases of talks to see if they could bring Arrested Development over to their channel. Damn that would be great news. The hitch in the giddyup seem to be the cost of a cast that size. I and a couple people I've talked to would get Showtime on the strength of that show alone...maybe a little market research on their part would bear that out across a larger survey sample.

I'm all about A Christmas Story, which I've managed to squeeze in twice this holiday season.

Christmas Vacation is another good one for me. It's one of those movies where the total value of the end product is worth so much more than the sum of the parts. And how can you not love a movie where Randy Quaid delivers such bits of comedy gold as "The Shitter's Full!"

Scrooged is good. I leave that one off. I forget it, but I caught a piece of it on TV the other night. Good stuff.

It's a Wonderful Life, you can't go wrong with. March of the Wooden Soldiers.

And I've always liked Rudolph and the Island of the Misfit Toys....

----

My Yahoo account is screwed up. Don't know what the deal is. I've had a couple e-mails bounced back to me from people, with their server saying it was spam. I'm wondering if Yahoo caught wind of that and shut me down.

There's not much on Yahoo that I can't do on g-mail or hotmail. Still, if I could get in for 10 minutes and get my e-mail address book out, it would be just awesome.

As it is, if you need to reach me via e-mail, you can do so at tommy_acuff (at) hotmail.com

----

I realized last night while e-mailing Gooseneck that the other thing that will happen if I can't get back onto Yahoo is that I'll lose my fantasy football and pick-em leagues. Dammit. I was in third on the pick'em, and I've been hot ever since we got back from New York at the end of October.

----

Wanted to see King Kong yesterday. But there were traffic problems on the interstate. Some goof in an EsuVee decided to run his truck into a concrete barrier and a semi. Some of you people need to learn to drive. I mean, you're gonna kill somebody, but if that doesn't persuade you, learn to drive if only so I don't miss movies.

Coulda gone to a later showing, but it's three hours, and I had dinner plans.

----

I'll close this thing with a list of a few of my habits...this little meme's been running around the interweb like the flu.

1. I count things. Sneezes. Steps on a staircase. Tiles on a floor. Seats in a theater. It doesn't get too OCD-ish, but there was one time I couldn't get up from sorting baseball cards for an Ebay auction until I'd counted everything in the box....hmmm....

2. I have to put on the left shoe before right shoe. It has to be this way. Any other way is unnatural. Same goes with socks, or pants.

3. I call people "chief." Friends. Acquaintances. Total Strangers. Men more than women, but I've called women "chief." I call everybody "Chief." It's such a catching affectation that a couple of people at work have picked up "chief."

4. I will not eat Bananas that have brown spots on the peels. Not bruise marks, but the little brown spots they get if they've been sitting a day or so past ripe. Some people will say "that's when they're good." I say "that's when they're gross." I like my bananas with a little bit of green still on them.

5. Punctuality is not an obsession, unless we're talking about movies. If I'm getting us there, we'll be there at least 20 minutes before showtime. I gotta see previews. Interestingly enough, I hate the commercials some theaters run before the movies, but I love the trailers, which are essentially commercials for movies.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Sixth Grade...

I'll start this with what I said in the comment section of Grandpoo's site...

I commented that we all wore sweat pants with the cuffs pulled up mid-shin. But you had to make sure the fabric of the sweat pants was pulled back down over the cuff just a bit, so the elastic wasn't showing. Also, your socks couldn't come much above the top of the shoe.

----

I also mentioned this strange obsession we had with these squeeze-drinking bottles with Coca Cola logos on them. I remember I got mine for a dollar at Rose's, and I was among the first to have one, though among the last to actually get to carry mine to school. At many a lunchtime, there was much confusion as to which squeeze bottle was which, since nobody seemed to grasp the concept of using a permanent marker to write their name on their bottle. I was able to tell mine from the others because I lost the red cap that went on the end of the drinking straw, and used a blue one I'd found at the house.

----

If it sucked, we called it "buddy." Or "butty." I never knew which spelling was correct. I asked for a new pair of shoes for Christmas, because mine were buddy.

---

Here's a joke from sixth grade that I found in my journal. I'd written the word "HILARIOUS" with three exclamation marks and an arrow pointing at the joke, to catch my eye, in case I'd forgotten how funny the joke was years later (I did not):

I had to clarify for future reference the fact that the The University of Tennessee football team began that season by losing their first six games.

I may have actually needed that note.

----

My best friends names were Lindsey and Tregg, though I became quick friends with a new student named Nigel, because he and I both read Batman comic books.

That was the year DC Comics killed off Robin using 1-900 numbers for fans to vote. I voted to save Jason Todd. He died, however. I decided, not long after, that it was probably the right decision.

I still have the Knoxville News-Sentinel article about it in a scrapbook, that Ms. Buckley cut out of the paper to give to me.

----

We were reading Tom Sawyer as part of reading class. We'd read a chapter a day, out loud. It was my turn to read out loud. I don't remember what the swear word was (probably damn), but Ms. Buckley said as I got to the word, that I didn't have to say it out loud, if I didn't want to. What happened next was a rash of volunteers raising their hands and announcing that they'd read the swearing passage.

I ended up reading the cuss word out loud. I mean, I've been taught cussing by some of the finest in the world (my folks) so it was just a minor, minor thing. I'm still fairly sure it was damn, or damned.

However, it had the odd effect of people actually taking the book home and reading it, trying to find cuss words so that they might volunteer to read the book when the word came around. I'd say there are kids from that class who haven't read a book since then, but they read Tom Sawyer because they were searching for cuss words, and the teacher would let them say the cuss words out loud in class.

----

Mr. Purdy taught math class. Once a week, we'd have an elimination contest using math problems. Everybody in the class would do a math problem, and those who got the question right moved up in seating position, and those who got it wrong went to the back. The questions got increasingly difficult, and whoever sat in the #1 seat at the end of class got a dollar. I heard in later years that it was discontinued in my class because Mr. Purdy got tired of me or Brad Smith winning the dollar.

I have not been able to do math without financial compensation since then.

Best Buy

Best Buy

On the list of things that bug, irk or otherwise piss me off...

I've got this thing where, if I'm going in to browse, and I'm not looking for anything in particular, I can't walk 28 feet in Best Buy without some goof in a blue shirt stepping into my field of vision and asking if I need help finding something. I mean, I've got blue-shirted goons tripping all over themselves, falling off of bunkers, running from other departments clear across the store to ask me if they can help me find anything.

But when I go in and I'm actually looking to find something, and it's not where logic tells me it should be, and I need help finding it...the blue shirts run! I wandered around to find a blue shirt, and on the couple of occasions that I could find one, they'd turn and scurry the other way.

I think on skittered up a wall to avoid me.

I mean, I had to chase down a blue shirt, tackle him, and hogtie him into a corner to ask where something was, only to have him tell me the Walk the Line soundtrack, which I'd seen the night before at Tower Records, wasn't out in stores yet.

Found it at Media Play up the street. Where I wasn't bothered by salespeople, who wear red, but was able to easily find the CD.

Things I recommend

Things I Recommend:

1. The Nut Brown Ale at Blackstone up in Nashville. Three pints and a serving of Shepherd's Pie makes for a tasty meal. But the ale itself is worth the stop.

2. The movie Walk the Line. I was hesitant. I haven't obsessed about much music in my life, but Johnny Cash is definitely on the short list. This flick does him justice, I think. Joaquin Phoenix is pretty good. That takes a lot for me to say that...I've never had much use for Mr. Phoenix. Didn't like him. A lot of the same way I don't like cauliflower...I can't say why...I just don't. But he's really good in this one. So is Ms. Witherspoon. And, truth be told, I actually like Reese Witherspoon's voice a little more than I do June Carter's....

3. The soundtrack to Walk the Line. Yeah. Coming back from seeing friends in Murfreesboro, I stopped in Chattanooga to pick the soundtrack up. Yeah. If it's possible to listen the shit out of a CD, I'm going to do it with this one. I mean, it's on the CD player now....

4. The deep fried pickle chips at Toot's, in Murfreesboro. They're one of my favorite foods. And it'd been a year and a half since I'd had any. We rectified that situation Sunday. Seems like there's a Toot's in Louisville and maybe in Cincinnati, too. So you don't have to go to Murfreesboro, if you don't wanna.

Friday, December 09, 2005

I Need a Toe Truck

Is there some corollary to Murphy's Law that says if you've got an injured bodypart (a hand, a knee, or in my case, a toe), you're gonna bump it against things right around 700 times?

When I tripped the other day, I must of stubbed my toe really good. Didn't notice immediately, for I was too busy cussing the woodpile and the cats. I noticed a couple of hours later when my toe started throbbing.

My other maladies are fine, unless you don't care for big nasty looking scrapes on the back of your hand. But my toe has a big black toenail, and it will throb like a sumbitch every time I knock it against something. Which seems to happen somewhere around every 9.3 seconds.

Jeebus. Why is my furniture jumping out and attacking me?

I have to believe that, otherwise I have to admit to myself that I'm some clumsy oaf who can't walk around a room without knocking into stuff with every step.

I think that's the first time I've ever used the word "oaf" in reference to myself on this site.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

A Jeopardy Moment

Remember how I used to watch Jeopardy with a compulsion that bordered on madness? Where I kept score of myself and statistics and all that jazz?

Well, I got bored of that. A long time ago. Part of it was this thing where I started having to work every other night time, and I'm much too lazy to program a VCR to tape a show.

Now if somebody wanted to buy me TiVo....

Anyway, I was off work last night. This happened after I'd tripped and scraped and bruised myself on the woodpile (see a couple of posts down), and I was going to wash my hand off, and I saw Jeopardy was on the TV. It's at that interview segment where you're supposed to tell some anecdote on yourself, and I realize I know the guy Alex Trebek is interviewing.

Good ol' James Quintong, who I played quiz bowl against back in the college days.

Didn't know him well, but we did have a nodding acquaintance, due to our wrestling fandom.

And he won. He couldn't be caught at final Jeopardy, but I wouldn't call anybody's performance in the game overwhelming...I've always felt they upped the toughness a bit after sweeps, but I can't think of a way to quantify that opinion.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Superhero or Cleaning Product?

Wednesday

Wednesday

What the hell have I been doing to where I can't write three paragraphs of nonsense on my blog for five days?

I dunno.

Working, mostly. We had a indiscretion or two go down at work recently, and the long and the short of it for me is that the person who used to manage the store at night is no longer working with us, and as a result, it's fallen on me to close up the store.

Dude, I thought third shift was bad as far as having a life and whatnot. Working basically a second shift is really starting to ride up my craw.

Also, I've been carrying firewood inside the house, for it's a touch nippy here in my neck of the woods. Not ball-shrivelling cold, like the barren wastelands of Montana. 20's, though. It's cold enough to where it ain't comfortable sleeping without a fire.

So, I carry firewood. From the outside to the inside.

Sometimes, like tonight, I trip on a piece of firewood that is jutting out from the bottom of the stack, fall, scrape my hand on the stucco wall, pull quite a bit of the stack of firewood down on me, and lose my glasses in the dark, and poke myself in the eye with the earpiece when I do find them to put them on.

Yeah. My whole life's like a 3 Stooges episode, or a bad Jerry Lewis movie. I think I heard the laughtrack, this time.

Eh. What else is going on?

Very little. Just work. And sleep. One leads to the other, I find. Slept later than I'd wanted today. A couple of hours later, which is cool because I didn't have anyplace to be. However, it did end with a couple of phone callers getting an earful of confused, groggy Tommy answering the phone and wondering if it's 11 in the morning or 11 at night....

And Playstation. I bought a Playstation 2 from somebody looking to buy an X-Box 360 a little while back. It's been since the days of Super Nintendo since I've had a video game console of my very own. The roommates had one, back in the day, and I played theirs. But I've never been very good at video games. Mostly, they've served to frustrate me. But this one was cheap, and it came with a load of games, so I bought it.

So far, I'm stuck on Burnout 3, mainly because it promotes crashing your car into somebody else's. I can see where a feller might derive a great deal of enjoyment from such a pursuit.

So, I've been playing that, and laughing maniacally while I do it, for about a half hour a day.

And reading. Quite a bit of reading. Check out Shroud of the Thwacker, by Chris Elliot. It's pretty funny.

My friend Jill lent me the Kite Runner, and I started that this afternoon.

Also, I used the bathroom an average of nine times a day. Not counting teethbrushings, which usually number in the dozens, thanks to that powerful, lovely OCD....

Sunday, December 04, 2005

That Four Letter Network

Saturday, December 03, 2005

Saturday

Saturday

It's raining fairly heavily this morning at the BSTommy Compound. It's 35 degrees, and the rain's mixed with sleet and snow. The cat's short term memory problems are coming to light this morning. She's bound and determined to go outside, forgetting each time that the last trip (and the trip before that, and the one before that) lasted just long enough to get all four feet wet, and consisted mainly of stepping into the rain, and a quick 180 degree turn and a bolt for the dry house.

A few random thoughts:

I noted in the comments to the previous post that I've never actually checked a chihuahua out up close. I've never known anybody with such a pet. The only times I've ever seen one up close is in the parking lot of grocery stores or the like, when people have left the little bug-eye, snarling creatures out in their cars while they go shopping.

I did know somebody with a miniature doberman pinscher. I suppose that's the closest to a chihuahua I've ever met. I think that dog had the ability to vibrate out of our plane of existance. I didn't care for it's ability to disappear, and then reappear next to me without my knowing it....

Another average, everyday thing I've never done:

I've never taken a train on a trip long distance. I've ridden around town in Atlanta and Chicago, but I've never taken a train trip over a long distance. I'd say it's one of those things that wouldn't live up to expectations, once I did it. But still, I'd like to try it once.

----

I'm finished with my Christmas shopping, I think. I'll have to sit down, and make a list...this mental list stuff just doesn't cut it, sometimes. Need to see if I've left anybody out. But I think I'm finished shopping. Did most of it online. Just looking at my schedule over the next couple of weeks, didn't know when I was going to be able to get out and shop in an actual store.

Heading out to Murfreesboro next weekend, to check out some of the old grounds. May get a chance to look around someplace then, to see if there's anything else for somebody that catches my eye.

----

Went over to Jill's and Chris's last night for dinner. Pork chops, sweet potatoes, salad and broccoli. Raspberry Creme Broulle for dessert. It pleases me much to have spelled that correctly on the first try. Good dinner. Made friends with their dog Bozeman.

We watched Murderball. It starts slowly...Jill's and my takes were about the same early on...so guys in wheelchairs can be assholes, too? But it's a good watch. Enjoyed the bit quite a bit where the guy (Keith, I think) is still coming to grips with his injuries, but comes alive quite a bit when Mark Zupan comes by his hospital to talk about wheelchair rugby....

-----

Lastly, do I think the Cubs are gonna pick up Furcal?

My gut says no, that if we were, it'd have happened by now. I'm thinking you'll see him back in Atlanta, or in Dodger blue next year. It's just a gut feeling, with no other thought put into it than that. Keep in mind, my gut feelings are right something like 54 percent of the time.

Don't get me wrong. I'd love to see Furcal at the top of the order. No, he's not the end-all/be-all. I've seen he's more likely to be good than great written in more than one place.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

My two new favorite Family Feud answers....

My Two New Favorite Family Feud Answers...

I've been going into work at 2 in the afternoon here lately. As I eat lunch and get ready for work, I've been watching Family Feud. I think it's because I get something out of yelling at the television.

I now have two new favorite answers from today's back-to-back showing.

The first came in the first show. In the midst of the regular part of the game, the category was: Name a word or phrase with the word "sponge" in it. I was baffled, because after Spongebob, Sponge Bath and Sponge Cake, I was drawing a blank.

So was the head of the family who answered this, with two strikes to give: "When you make up for something you've done in the past, you get your record 'expunged.'"

Richard Karn was as stunned as I was.

He's more polite that Richard Dawson would have been.

Personally, I'd have said "if that's up on the board, I will eat my necktie."

It was not on the board. Thankfully.

I couldn't decide if the guy was being funny, since he was drawing a blank like me, or if he was serious. He was serious, I think, because he and his family answered "Africa" and "Europe" as countries in the next round.

I was still laughing about that until the finals round, where they ask five questions to two family members. The first question of those five was "Name a part of a chihuahua that is small."

My answer was tail.

The first lady's answer was "face."

The guy who followed? At first I thought I'd misheard his answer, and that he'd said "feet."

Because a chihuahua will have very tiny feet.

Nope.

He said that a chihuahua would have a tiny peter.

Which it does, I'd reckon. I've never checked.

I laughed so hard I missed the rest of his answers, one of which was "carnage," for things you see on the side of the road...

Two people agreed with him. 2.

My two new favorite answers.

I want to take issue with one question in that same round. It was asked of 100 people, how many dogs does it take to pull a sled? Eight and ten were the two answers given, and there were pretty good rates of agreement with those answers.